Time and Magic
by Mrs-Stiltskin
Summary: Anon prompted: Gold is dying in Neverland when Belle finally finds a way to get there to him. She is so scared but is able to save him from his undoing. Never Land AU Rated T


_Anon prompted: Gold is dying in Neverland when Belle finally find a way to get there to him. She is so scared but is able to save him from his undoing._

_Rated: T_

**Time and Magic**

Time and magic work differently in the place called Never Land; both swirl in eddies that ebb and flow like the tide. From one moment to the next one could be a hundred years or a hundred minutes from any particular moment… elsewhere. Rumplestiltskin knows there are many elsewheres, all side-by-each but virtually unreachable except by extraordinary magic, even by the most powerful magical beings. Never Land moves through all of them, touching all at various points in space and time without rhyme or reason, weaving an intricate pattern mysterious to all but one.

_Pan_ knows where and when Never Land is, how fast it's traveling, what other world it touches at any given moment; this much Rumplestiltskin knows. But the Dark One also believes that Peter may have some control over its movement, though he hasn't been able to fathom how. Now he may never get the chance to know for certain.

Rumplestiltskin cannot see the future here in this land where time twists and turns. In some ways it is a relief from the never-ending barrage of images that assault his subconscious in every other world. He tries not to look directly at the images but lets them flicker by with an unfocused inner-eye unless he seeks for something in particular. Future-sight is a tricky gift (burden! - just ask the seer from which he took it) at the best of times, but here he has been truly blinded.

Peter Pan has been seeking the One and collecting his Lost Boys since time out of mind. He has trusted no one except perhaps Felix with his reasons for the hunt but Felix has kept his master's secrets well. Pan culls the ranks of the Lost Boys; he keeps no more than a couple dozen at a time and in this way maintains his leadership with an iron grip. They are sent out to scout the mountainous woodlands, on the lookout for the wild natives who fear and dislike Peter and his boys. They camp in the wilderness alone or in groups of two or three. Sometimes the scouts return with news of the natives, where they camp, where they hunt; sometimes they do not.

Rumplestiltskin has found out the hard way why Lost Boys sent to scout go missing. A shadow creature stalks them; Peter knows what it is, has fed it the shadows torn from his enemies until it has become a danger even to the Dark One. A fearsome thing of razor teeth and claws that drip with poison inhabits the dark, cobwebbed corners of Never Land and feeds on the fat, happy souls of the unsuspecting, be he traveler, native or Lost Boy.

Rumplestiltskin with his magic would have no trouble with Pan's ill-humored pet, but today the magic is particularly finicky. Every time he reaches for it, it scatters like the dry leaves in a strong autumn wind. He chases it, needs it, conjures what he can when he is able to catch hold of it; before it slips away from him once again and he is left with only his cane and a sharp dagger with which to defend himself.

Gold has left the others who came here with him on Hook's ship. Emma and the Charmings decided that Hook should have a say in their search because of his associations with Never Land and his long sojourn on the enchanted isle. But Rumplestiltskin knows the miserable worm that Hook truly is; he would betray them all in less than the space of a single breath if that meant his revenge on Rumplestiltskin would be complete.

Gold cares only for his goal to save Henry, the others are nothing to him, and Hook only a foe to be watched, evil at his back. He has never subscribed to the ideal of keeping your friends close but your enemies closer. Gold has no friends and no sees no value in weighing himself down with the extra baggage of keeping an eye on either Hook or Regina. Only his quest to save Baelfire's boy is of any meaning to him and he is full willing to leave the others to their own peril while he finds the boy. And so he is alone now, in the wilderness above Peter's camp, waiting to see if those who stole him bring him to Pan.

Rumplestiltskin sits in the dark, for a light in this shadowed place would bring only enemies. His mood is as dark as the surrounding forest. A black night lit only by stars and the distant fires of the Peter Pan's Lost Boys. Gold smells the fetid stench of decay on its breath and feels the eyes of the beast on him before he turns to look. There is only the deep velvet dark of a moonless night between the trees and a deeper void of utter dark where the shadow-creature waits.

* * *

Belle pushes her hands into her pockets as she makes her way back to her apartment, the day is a breath-stealing cold that cuts to the bone and she just wants to be inside. Alone, where she can examine the tight fist of pain that has taken up residence in her chest, somewhere just inside her ribcage. Her hand closes around a small scrap of paper and her heart drops like a stone into her stomach. Rumple's spell, the last thing he gave her aside from the sweet, passionate kiss that she swears she can still taste on her lips.

She takes the scroll from her pocket, unfurling it once again so she can gaze on his elegant hand and think of him. Remember. Belle looks, expecting the instructions for the cloaking spell and gasps, clutching the paper to her chest and practically running up the stairs to her apartment above the library. Her fingers clumsy and fumbling with the keys, dropping them more than once in her frantic haste to look more closely at the scroll, in private.

Belle's heart is hammering inside her chest, her breath coming in short gasps as she unrolls the tiny scroll to take another look at the parchment. The script has changed, the spell she followed just yesterday, cloaking the town against intruders, is gone. In its place, a note to her from Rumple:

_My darling Belle, I miss you already, my love. When you visit our favorite place, keep your head high and know that I am with you. When you hear the soft water falling among the mossy stones, it is me, whispering my love to you. Listen, and know that I will never truly leave you._

_-R_

Belle _feels_ him in the note, his love, his magic. She cannot tear her eyes from the last words of love, a gift she did not expect. As she looks, she sees something else there and her heart misses a beat of its thundering tempo; a tiny mark, little more than a squiggled line, like a tilde, graces the corner. Belle's mind races, turning over and over as she sits , staring, and finally she knows what Rumplestiltskin has asked of her. She is frightened, but her True Love needs something of her, and so she must rise to his need.

_Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow…_ Belle clutches the note fiercely to her chest and she gathers her courage and a few supplies and strikes out for the place Rumple has told her it is hidden. She is dressed in the most practical hiking clothes she owns, jeans, boots and a leather jacket she borrowed from Rumple's closet. She is careful, sure no one sees her as she makes for the hiking path that leaves town not far from Mr. Gold's Pawn Shop.

And so she soon finds herself sitting beneath a towering fir under whose spreading, trembling branches she and Rumple had picnicked, read to each other, made love; quietly exploring each other and learning one another again. Belle gazes up at the tumbling waterfall that joins the river just above the path. It is small but makes a lovely sound as the water rushes over mossy stones.

Vivid green ferns of prehistoric proportions overhang the falls, graced with fiddleheads the size of her fist. She sees the place where she knows it is hidden. Such a_ Rumplestiltskin_ place to hide something so powerful, so dangerous. Belle breathes_… Do the brave thing…_ and finds a place to ford the stream, picking her way over slippery rocks, ice cold water rushing over her bare feet, sharp stones cutting into tender soles. She makes it to the far side, pulling her warm boots back over frozen toes, red and throbbing from the cold.

The ascent is not difficult, only slippery and wet, dirt and moss cling to her hands and knees where she has to scrabble over boulders to reach the spot. For long moments, Belle watches the curtain of icy water as it falls endlessly over a hollow niche in the stone wall of the falls; a liquid-crystal chandelier that is a dichotomy of never-changing but ever-rushing water tricks her eyes and her mind as she stares.

_…And bravery will follow…_ Belle breaks from her reverie. Plunging her arm into the hollow up to her shoulder, her hand finds the leather and cloth wrapped bundle hidden as far back as possible and she pulls it free. She knows what it is that lies there in her hand; Belle can feel it pulse and throb with Rumplestiltskin's power even though he is nowhere near. It is an inexorable connection, unaffected by proximity, and now she needs must use it.

He must have great need of her, if not for himself, then to save Henry. She saw it in his eyes and felt it in his tender kiss goodbye; he expects to die in this quest. He's told her the prophecy, the last foretelling of the old seer before he took her sight. He expects to die saving the boy who will be his undoing, Henry, Baelfire's son. Baelfire's loss has broken him utterly and he has no will left to live in this world or any other without his son, not even for her.

She would be angry at that, oh it hurts – she cannot deny the twisting pain, like this knife buried in her chest when she thinks of it - but she understands. Rumple has spent the last three hundred years working with relentless energy to find his son, to repent the wrong and fulfill the deal that was broken. He even turned aside from her so many years ago, from True Love, to keep the power he needed to reach Bae. Belle only wishes that he had understood then that he could have had both all along, if he had only trusted her.

He trusts her now, with his power and his love. There is no doubt of that as Belle kneels on the forest floor with the long thin bundle of leather and cloth before her on the ground. She unwraps it carefully with trembling fingers and feels her heart struggle and surge, like a butterfly trapped in a spider's web at the sight of Rumplestiltskin's dagger, gleaming and sharp. Death and power nestled in the most humble wrappings, just like Rumplestiltskin.

Belle is repulsed by the dagger, she always has been. Her insides rebel and she nearly retches, breathing hard through her nose and pressing her lips together to contain it. That it is dark magic of the most evil sort that flows through that blade, she has no doubt; it makes her hairs stand on end to be so near it. At first, she cannot fathom how Rumple controls himself at all, when she senses the evil this object is steeped in. But Belle realizes that the good man that still survives in him is pure and utter love, True Love, for Baelfire and for her. The most powerful magic of all, and the only reason he never wholly surrendered himself to the full curse of the Dark One.

Terror freezes her where she kneels, shaking fingers hovering inches above the black jewelled hilt. Belle has no idea what will happen when she claims the blade and she wonders if Rumple knows for sure. Will she be able to communicate with him across worlds? Command him? Her fear is nearly her master, but not quite.

_…Do the brave thing…_ Belle's fingers touch the hilt and she feels nothing but a slight tingling at her fingertips. She grasps the hilt firmly and the sensation spreads, a vibration that moves through her arm and shoulder, as though she holds a live wire in her bare hand. Belle can smell the tang of ozone in the air, the smell of magic; she knows it well and she thinks of Rumple, always in her mind that smell is associated with him.

"Rumplestiltskin," Belle calls so softly that it disappears into the cool breeze of the evening. There is no answer that Belle can hear and her heart sinks. She closes her eyes and holds her breath, she can see him! He is surrounded by darkness and shadow, but she can make out his form, crouching and staring wide-eyed into the night.

He is different. He is Rumplestiltskin once again, the sorcerer, not the pawnbroker. He wears dragon-leather, all scales and sharp edges, but not the green-grey and gold-flecked skin that was so familiar to her once. His movements are catlike, he is no longer using the cane for mobility, but rather, he holds it now like a weapon. Belle sees the fear in his eyes as he watches the shadows, a small dagger in one hand and his cane held like a cudgel in the other show her he is being stalked by something that can certainly harm him. Perhaps kill him.

Belle's fear rises up like bile in her throat, as she watches him circle the clearing, dancing backwards as something deep in the shadows waits for him to make a mistake. A predator is on the hunt and Rumple is its prey. She cannot make out a shape, only a deeper black, dark as the void, and she makes up her mind_…and bravery will follow…_

Belle has considered the problem, it is the Dark One who must hear and obey her. She lifts the dagger, holding it straight-armed before her, its blade glinting blood-red in the slanting rays of sunset. Her voice trembles, but her purpose is clear as she calls out, louder this time, "Dark One, I command you, summon me to your side."

Belle watches Rumplestiltskin's eyes go even wider as he senses the contact and then a grimace of fear, pain or perhaps anger contorts his features as he realizes what she has commanded of him. This is not what he had intended, that fact she is sure of as she watches him grapple with himself, he cannot disobey, the command is made and she will not relent. She trembles like a bird in the hand, but she will not relent.

Rumple does not hide his grim determination as he reaches for the magic of the dagger. Time and space contract, bending to magic as old as the breaking of the worlds, and Belle is caught in its stinging web.

She loses contact with Rumple when she opens her eyes but the vibration that runs through her body intensifies until she cries out, willing herself not to drop the knife. Her white-knuckled grip does not loosen, though her body shakes and shudders with the effort of holding on. Belle's determination is all for him; it always has been. She will not waver now.

Belle watches with remote curiosity and not a little terror as an electric-purple, crackling web of magic forms at the tip of the blade. It spreads like wildfire, travelling down her hand, her arm until her entire body is engulfed within it. She can see nothing now but the roiling purple-black, bruise colored smoke of Rumple's magic while the smell of burning electricity fills her nostrils. She cannot escape it, and it is nearly overwhelming; this time, she does retch, vomiting into the spinning vortex, wondering briefly what would become of it. Hysterical laughter bubbles up, but she forces it down.

Belle breathes deep and feels better for having relented on that particular; her mind must be clear as she comes to rest at Rumplestiltskin's side. They must move and think as one if they are to escape the shadowy menace that lurks just beyond the clearing. She knows this with a keen awareness as the new world begins to coalesce around her.

Belle rolls as she lands, her body springing up to a crouch before her disoriented mind can even begin to assess her new situation. She can smell the fetid rot of the evil that circles just beyond the shadow of the trees. Rumplestiltskin doesn't hesitate, he leaps forward, swinging wide with his cane, brandishing the knife and yelling. Perhaps he intends to draw the creature away from Belle, but she can sense its attention is focused fully on her, the weaker target to be sure.

"Belle, get down, now!" Rumple shouts, his voice frantic as he tries to reach her side in three tremendous strides. Too late, she feels the rush of corrupt air wash over her as the creature springs from the shadows with a snarl of blackest intent. Poison-tipped claws and dripping fangs rend the air precisely where her head would have been only a split second before, but Belle is rolling, landing flat on her back, arms extended upward, elbows locked out. Rumple's dagger slices easily through the soft underbelly as the shadow-thing flies overhead, landing with a sickeningly wet thud behind her.

An ear-splitting shriek echoes through the forest as it stumbles blindly away, crashing heedlessly through thick, tropical underbrush. The black ichor that drips from its nearly eviscerated belly, coating the foliage with the withering acid of its venomous bile, and piteous moans and howls of anguish mark its passage through the forest for all to see and hear. The sounds retreat as the shadow-stalker moves far from them, back to the gloomy depths of the forest to nurse its wounds.

Rumplestiltskin offers Belle his hand and the helps her to her feet with tender care. Belle hands him his dagger, feeling a weight and a shadow lift from her heart as it passes from her hand to his. He looks at her with eyes full of anguish, his face so close to hers she cannot focus.

"Why, Belle?" His voice cracks with emotion, "Why did you make me bring you here? I cannot send you back. The way is closed. Why?" His face crumples in sorrow; fear and worry etch themselves across his brow. She watches the storm-clouds of his eyes and can see the tears threaten, pooling at the corners.

Belle tries to take his hand, but he pulls away from her, turning his face so she can't see his eyes. Rumplesiltskin's fingers open and close convulsively at his sides. "I must find a way to send you back with Henry. I cannot leave you trapped here when I die." His shoulders shake at the last word as he fights back a sob. He worries only for her.

"Rumple," Belle puts her hand on his sleeve, the stiff sleeve of dragon leather that she knows well from the old world. Her voice is gentle but full of the determination in her heart, "Rumple, you are not going to die."

He looks into her eyes then, and she can see he is about to protest her declaration, but she cuts him off with a shake of her head and tightening of her grip. Tears have spilled and glister wetly on his cheeks. Belle finds his free hand and he pulls her in for a rough, wet kiss that speaks of longing and fear and the surety of loss that clutches at his chest.

Belle's own tears fall, mingling once again with those of her love. But she will be strong this time, strong enough to carry them both if need be. She is certain, however that she can make Rumplestiltskin see the hope that shines from her heart, a beacon and a light to lead the way for all of them.

Belle grasps the sides of his head with her hands and looks him full in the face, her fingers tangling in his hair as she tugs him towards her once again. He is looking at her, the tiniest spark of hope gleams in his tempestuous eyes as she rests her forehead against his and whispers with a vehemence she did not know she possessed, "I don't care what the seer meant by your 'undoing,' Rumple. I don't care one tiny bit. We are going to find Henry and the others and we are going to find a way home. Together."


End file.
